


Beyond the Horizon

by jaclynhyde



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Alexander the Great - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Case Fic, First Kiss, M/M, Underage - Freeform, mentioned Hephaestion/Alexander, singularity - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-20 23:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17031894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaclynhyde/pseuds/jaclynhyde
Summary: When Alex suddenly loses his Noble Phantasm, he and Waver are sent to Macedonia to solve the mystery and find a Grail. But neither history nor Alexander the Great are what they remembered.





	Beyond the Horizon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [warfare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/warfare/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, warfare! Your prompts were delightful, and I had a ton of fun writing this story. I hope you enjoy it! Thank you to my great beta vanishinghitchhiker, whose editing and brainstorming helped me immeasurably, and to Mary Renault, who sent me further down the Alexander the Great rabbit hole.

They were outnumbered.

Three hundred soldiers, trained for the fiercest of battle, their spears an impenetrable wall. But even more intimidating was their leader: the battle-hardened king, famed for facing down ten thousand men. Here, he faced only two.

"This," said Waver, "could take a few minutes."

"At last!" cried Leonidas, his cape soaring in a sudden gust of wind. "Long have I waited to fell the great Alexander...the Great."

"You'll have to settle for falling to him!" At Waver's side, Alexander whooped and drew his sword. 

"Impossible." With a low growl, Leonidas readied his spear. "The spears of Sparta will bring the death of Macedonia itself!"

"And England. And China," said Waver.

"...all your nations! And Chaldea too!" Just as Leonidas took a breath to order his attack, Waver flicked his wrist. The fan caught the air just so, channeling magic swiftly over the battlefield to halt Leonidas' voice. He cried out in surprise, falling to one knee—just in time for Alex to dash forward with a brutal slice.

"Fall back!" Waver shouted, sparing only a moment of satisfaction at Leonidas dissolving into gold. "Attack at my signal!"

"Got it, Professor!" Alex bolted back, shooting Waver a grin as he passed by.

Their leader gone, Leonidas' soldiers were already falling out of rank, confused and disorganized. But their spears still faced forward—not good enough. With another wave of his fan, Waver sent a burst of mana towards Alex; two more flicks and a snap of his fingers scattered the enemy further, spears pointing every which way. The perfect opportunity for the cavalry to arrive.

Waver stepped aside, giving him a clear shot. "Alex, _now!_ " 

There was no movement for a heartbeat, another, another—odd, usually he was quicker than this. Even royalty could have an off day, he supposed— 

And finally, Alex ran past him. On foot. 

That was...very odd.

He made quick work of the soldiers, of course. Even on foot he was a skilled combatant. But as desert skies faded to the metal walls of the battle simulator, Alex turned to him, and there was none of the joy of battle on his face. 

Waver fought down the instinct to ask him what was wrong. Alex would just tease Waver for fussing over him, anyway. "You're distracted," he said, walking over.

Alex was staring at the spot where the last man had fallen. Finally, he looked up at Waver, worrying his lip. "I—I can't remember him," he said, voice quiet.

Ah. Hardly the first time—he'd reminded Alex before, told him of people he hadn't yet met who still held a place deep in his heart. "Who?"

"My Noble Phantasm. My _horse_. I don't remember his name."

That—that was not normal. Those memories belonged to Alex as much as Iskandar, if not more. "It's—"

He didn't know.

He didn't _know_.

He remembered reading the name, all over Iskandar's biographies. He remembered the solid strength underneath him. He remembered Iskandar's warm chuckle as he reached around Waver to stroke his mane. He remembered Iskandar leaving him, ready to meet his death, calling on his horse—

But when he opened his mouth, there was nothing.

Waver swallowed down the rising panic in his gut (he couldn't forget those memories, he _couldn't_ , he'd never have any more, he'd never—). Taking a steadying breath, he looked at Alex. He was his teacher, not to mention his tactician. The important thing was to stay calm, and plan the logical course of action.

" _Fuck!_ " said Waver.

* * *

One call to Dr. Roman and da Vinci later, they were gathered in the control room, looking at a bright abnormality on the projection of Earth.

"Yes, there's definitely a Singularity in ancient Greece," said Dr. Roman, poking at the controls. "A small one, luckily. Looks like it's centered around...Pella, 366 BC."

Waver nodded. "That's it. You were ten."

"Right when I tamed him," said Alex. "Good. You're ready to go, aren't you, Professor?"

Waver pulled out a cigarette, ignoring the doctor's pointed cough. "You'd just drag me along if I wasn't."

"Of course." Alex crowded close to Dr. Roman, tracing paths from Pella to lands unseen. "Ten years old, I'll get to see Hephaestion again! Oh, I should introduce you to Aristotle, you'd have plenty to talk about. Hmm...no, he was later on, I think. Did I know Harpalus yet?"

Da Vinci cut in before Alex could cycle through the entire Hetairoi. "You shouldn't need any new gadgets for the city. Well, you might, except you've caught me before I've finished my next great invention. Stall next time, Roman."

Dr. Roman frowned. "Alex, are you sure you'll be all right out there without your Noble Phantasm? "

"Oh, of course. I didn't need magic when I was alive, did I? Besides, I'll have everyone else with me. Right, Professor?" He gave Waver a grin.

Waver shrugged, fighting down the warmth in his chest. "At least I'm a second-rate mage now."

"All right," Dr. Roman rubbed his hands together. "Once Ritsuka summons you—"

"No, I should go in the Rayshift," said Alex. "They'll need to know their way around Pella as soon as they get there—what if my father is suspicious? We probably don't keep prisoners by any leylines. Plus, Lord El-Melloi's been there before, so he should be able to find the leylines quickly."

"But—"

"He has a point, Roman," da Vinci said.

Roman sighed. "Okay. Fine. I'm not seeing much Servant activity there, but be careful, okay? That means no help, either. Pseudo-Servants can still die, and we don't want to piss off Zhuge Liang." At Waver's glare, he held his hands up. "Or see you dead! C'mon, that's a given!"

Ritsuka, still yawning, walked in with Mash right behind her. Or, more accurately, was propelled in by Mash's gentle prodding. "Can't history wait until after noon?"

"I doubt Alex can," said da Vinci. "He and Zhuge Liang are Rayshifting with you."

With a stretch, Ritsuka nodded. "Okay, yeah. So, five of us this time?"

Waver asked, "Five?" 

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted movement—a massive frame filling the doorway. "Iskandar..." rumbled Darius.

"What," said Waver.

"Hey, your Majesty!" Ritsuka waved at him before turning back. "He heard us talking about Alex and really wanted to come. I mean, he kept following us and saying 'Iskandar,' so I figure that's what he meant."

"This is—"

"Great!" said Alex, grinning at Darius. "You can finally see Greece! You'll like the plays, I think, especially if Thettalos is performing—" As Alex continued, Darius responding with slightly bewildered roars, Waver sighed. No point at all in arguing against both Alex and Ritsuka, even if he wasn't sure what side Darius was on. 

"...okay! Everybody ready to go?" Dr. Roman shooed them towards the Coffins before anyone else got ideas. "Darius—Darius, no, you _really_ can't fit, Ritsuka can summon you there— _Darius—_ "

As Roman continued to argue with Darius, Waver climbed into a Coffin. "Make sure you're secured," said da Vinci cheerfully. "This is pretty late BC, so you'll make great guinea pigs."

"W-what?" asked Mash.

"Good luck!"

As the Coffin closed, Waver held his breath. And just as he shut his eyes to the bright flash of the Rayshift, he could have sworn he heard a faint, "Uh-oh."

He felt the heat before he opened his eyes—unpleasantly dry, with sweat already making his suit stick unpleasantly to his skin. It was summer, then, and outside of town judging from the quiet. Upon opening his eyes, he amended his conclusion. _Very_ far out of town. He saw only tall grass, with scattered trees that looked suspiciously non-native to Greece. And the only person in sight was Alexander, a few yards off, peering over the horizon.

"We're not in the palace," said Waver, needlessly.

"No," said Alex, turning back towards him.

"And everyone else is not, in fact, here."

"Doesn't look like it!"

Waver pinched the bridge of his nose.

Alex laughed, and he wouldn't deny the sound still eased his heart. "Honestly, it's more fun this way. It'd be boring to fix everything as soon as we got here, right?"

As if it was possible for anything to be boring around Alexander the Great. "Are we even in Macedonia?"

"I don't think so. The terrain looks like…India, but I can't be sure."

"That's...we're not walking to the palace." Even Alex wouldn't want to walk thousands of kilometers (never mind that Waver wasn't sure he could handle _one_ ). "Let's wait here for Master and Mash—they shouldn't be far. Maybe da Vinci can send us something."

"Master!" Alex shouted. (Of course _Waver_ couldn't summon the version that actually used the title.) He listened for a reply—not for very long, Waver noted—before shaking his head. "Not that close. We'd just be wasting time waiting around. Let's go."

"To _Macedonia?_ "

"To somewhere we can borrow some horses, or another Servant. Then to Macedonia." Alex pointed towards a distant river. "There's water over there; we should find someone who can point us to civilization if we follow it."

That was a _very_ distant river. "Why don't you go ahead?" he suggested, half-heartedly.

With a laugh, Alex tugged at his arm. "Come on, I keep telling you you need to get more exercise. Besides, we need to find you some food and water." Not for the first time, Waver cursed that he was only a Pseudo-Servant and still needed sust—was Alex _jogging_ ahead? "Let's go, I can't carry you anymore!" he called back. "Well, I probably could, but your legs and hair would get everywhere. Hurry up, Professor!"

With a groan, Waver pulled off his jacket and started after him. He tried very hard not to think of the possibility that they were lost not just in space, but in time. That the Rayshift had focused on Alexander the Great himself, had taken them to a time when he had been in India. When he had been Iskandar.

* * *

Two hours of following the river later, all he was thinking of was how he was going to pass out if he didn't get to sit down for a while. Lie down, even.

"Are you all right?" Alex, who didn't even look _tired_ , circled back to take a look at him. "You'll have to get used to this once you're in my Hetairoi, you know."

Waver rubbed at his face. "I'll be _dead_. I don't think it will bother me." If he even became a Heroic Spirit on his own merit, that was. (But the last time he had said that, Alex just laughed and called him an idiot in a tone so familiar it hurt.)

Alex grinned at him. "It doesn't feel that different, you know. Anyway—" Taking his arm, Alex led him to a sturdy-looking tree. "I'll start training you harder when we get back. Take a rest for now. Are you hungry?"

Waver sunk down against the trunk, letting out a heavy breath. "I think so. My stomach hurts just as much as every other part of my body."

"Me too. I'll go catch us some fish."

"Fish?"

Alex pulled out his short sword. "A spear would be easier, but this shouldn't take too long. Remember, don't drink your water too fast." He flashed him a smile, bright and confident, and Waver found himself smiling back.

It wasn't so bad, sitting here in the shade. He'd just rest his eyes for a few minutes, and wake up to a nice dinner.

* * *

"Hey! Wake up!" _Alex seems annoyed,_ , he thought groggily. It took a moment for him to realize the voice sounded nothing like him, and also that the pain in his stomach was someone prodding him with the blunt end of a spear.

"I'm awake!" he said in their language, and looked up at his tormentors. Two of them, both soldiers. _Greek_ soldiers.

"What are you doing here?" asked the man who had thankfully stopped nudging him with his spear. They were speaking Macedonian, it clicked in his brain, and he swallowed hard. Philip II's army had never reached India, and neither had any other Macedonian's. 

Except one.

So— history could have changed, or they might not have landed in India, it didn't mean it was—

"I bring news from Macedonia," he said, heart pounding in his throat. "I wish to speak to your king."

The two whispered to each other (he heard "barbarian" and "speaks our language") before the second man nodded to him. "Stand up. You carrying any weapons?"

"No." He carefully stood up, surreptitiously looking for any sign of Alex. Nothing. Hopefully they hadn't found him first.

"He looks like a mage," said the other. "Search him for any tricks." Waver stood still and let them search, biting back an affronted noise when they took his fan. He didn't _need_ it, really, but he always thought it made him look more dignified. Besides, when Zhuge Liang was pissed off enough, he gave him a headache.

The soldier pushed him forward. "All right, come with us. The King will decide if he will see you." Wherever they were camped, it wasn't anywhere he could see. Or even within hearing range.

Maybe, he thought as he winced at his first step, he'd finally give in and let Alex train him. 

A good half hour of walking later, he could see signs of life, of a camp made for war. And suddenly, Waver didn't feel his exhaustion at all. The camp was sprawling, and, more importantly, it was lived in. Soldiers sat with their spouses and children, servants carried clothes, and personal effects were strewn around each tent. This wasn't a temporary camp—this was meant for an extended campaign, for conquest. And as his captors marched Waver through the camp, soldiers and family and servants watched the foreigner with curiosity.

Finally, they came to the largest tent. One fit for a king. And as the two led him in, Waver squinted in the sudden shade to see the solitary figure raising his head at their entrance.

His king stood there.

He was bent over a table, hands braced on either side of a large map. He wore no cloak or armor, just a tunic. His eyes—his eyes, when they met Waver's, burned just as intensely as he remembered them.

And his red hair, crimped from a braid, spilled over his shoulders like sunset waves upon a shore.

Waver had planned his introductions, thought over how to make the right impression, wasn't going to make an idiot of himself this time—

" _Iskandar,_ " he breathed, voice catching in his throat. 

Well. At least he hadn't flung himself at him.

Iskandar raised his eyebrows. "Iskandar, huh? You don't look Persian. " And then he grinned, and his smile was as broad and overwhelming as it always had been.

"Ah—" Idiot! Of course history had changed here, the hair alone could have told him that. "My apologies, King." He bowed, deeply—he could still keep this on track, gain his trust. "Alexander III of Macedonia, I have followed your career with interest. Word of your great exploits has reached across the world." Beside him, Waver heard his escorts mutter, but the king only listened. "I have been beset with troubling visions of your future, of your glory being cut short. I wish only to prevent that."

His laugh, rough and raw, was so familiar. "Visions! Always visions. Visions of failure, ruin and despair. But do you know what, seer?" He stepped closer, and god, he even smelled the same. "My visions are only of victory. And they are given to me directly by my father."

"So hear mine," said Waver. "And prove them wrong."

Iskan— _Alexander's_ teeth flashed again. "Oh? And what will you do once I've failed to fall?"

"I wish to join you, King Alexander." He bowed, then, as he had only once before. "I wish to serve you." 

"You wear my colors already, I see." He could feel Alexander's eyes on him, knew they were thoughtful. "Are you so sure I will take you?"

Just as he raised his head to answer, a bright voice called from behind him. "There you are, Professor." 

Alex walked in—how he managed to avoid an entire army, Waver didn't know—and stood face to face with his older self. "Hello," he said, cheerfully.

Alexander stared at him, as dumbfounded as he'd ever seen Iskandar. And, a moment later, he burst out laughing. "Well! I would have remembered fathering a son. I suppose there is something to your _visions_ , seer—you've brought a portent with you." He walked over to Alex and clapped him on the shoulders. "Come, boy, let us speak. And your oracle as well."

Rolling the map up, he addressed the soldiers. "We've still food from our last meal, correct? Bring some here." Shoving papers out of the way, he cleared room on the table. "And you are certainly parched." Alexander procured three cups, and then poured from an urn that smelled of wine. "Slake your thirst and explain. Do introduce yourself properly, this time."

"I'm—" and there's nothing he can say but, "Waver. Waver Velvet." Ten years he'd avoided that name, and all it took was ten minutes with a king not even his own to adopt it once more.

Alex leaned forward, elbow touching Waver's. "You know me, I think. We're from the future."

"The future," said Alexander, leaning forward to match. "There are many ways of stealing one's face, even now. How many more must there be in the future?"

"Here," said Alex, holding his left hand up. "This scar." He pointed to a white line in the meat of his palm, one Waver suddenly remembered rubbing his thumb over on a much larger hand. "It's from Peritas, when I pulled my tunic from his teeth."

Alexander raised his own hand, scar crossing the lines of his palm. "My legacy lives on, indeed! Now, how did you come to be there?"

And, with Alex’s frequent interjections, Waver explained everything: contests between mages, a view of an incinerated earth, and the holes torn in history. Alexander added his own frequent questions, pausing only to tear off a hunk of bread when it arrived.

"Hm. And what is the cause of this...Singularity?"

Before Waver could open his mouth, Alex spoke up. "In my timeline, I tamed a remarkable horse as a boy, and he fought with me through my life. I suddenly forgot his name. Do you have him?"

"A horse? No, none that I would esteem so highly. Ah, cheer up, prince," he said at the droop of Alex’s shoulders. "Who better to conquer time itself than Alexander the Great? Enjoy this taste of your future, and see how the gods have favored you."

When Alexander turned his smile to Waver, he quickly bowed his head to hide his reddening cheeks. "We are at your disposal."

"Nonsense! You are honored guests. You may house yourselves in my camp as long as you need." He looked Waver over. "And we'll find you some proper clothes, strategist—no need to wear leggings anymore."

And some things never changed.

As Waver started to respectfully decline, Alexander leapt to his feet. "Come! I must present you to my men." With a hand on each of their shoulders, he propelled them to the entrance. To the soldiers standing guard outside, he said, "Gather the troops. I've an announcement." 

The wine and excitement were mixing in his stomach, churning into a glee he hadn't felt for a very long time. Iskandar, Iskandar was _here_ , even if he didn't go by Iskandar, even if he kept his hair long and hadn't tamed a near-wild horse.

He looked over to see Alex watching him curiously. "You look," he said, "happy."

Waver managed a scowl. "If you're just going to make fun of me—"

"No! It's…nice."

A few minutes later, Alexander strode out of the tent, dressed— 

Waver's breath seized in his throat, just for a moment. And then he quashed the stupid, _stupid_ panic he felt just from seeing someone in shining golden armor. 

And Alex drew in a breath as well. "Professor!" he said, tugging at his sleeve. "That's _Achilles'_ armor!" It was, now that he saw what was there and not his worst memories: armor he'd seen in history books, resplendent in silver and gold. He was holding what looked like a decorative staff, as well—a lance in guise of one, maybe?

Alexander grinned at Alex, holding arms out wide. "Suits us, doesn't it?"

Soon enough, they were standing in front of a crowd of hundreds; if the army was larger or smaller than it should have been, Waver couldn't tell. Right now, no matter how much he tried to look for anything unusual, all he could concentrate on was how close Alexander stood to him, on the flashes of red hair and muscles caught out of the corner of his eye. 

"Men!" he called to the assembled crowd. "I present to you a sign from the gods!" With a touch, Alexander propelled Waver and Alex into view of the crowd. "Behold, our envoys of the past and the future!" Within the confused murmur of the crowd came some shouts of recognition—Alex was already waving excitedly at someone. "My younger self and his advisor have arrived from a future where the world is lost. Here, they have come to seek its salvation. It is our charge not only to conquer the world, but to preserve it!" The noise of the crowd was almost as loud as the pounding of Waver's heart, the way it had always pounded upon seeing Iskandar act like a king. "Young Alexander and Waver Velvet are our guests. Serve them as you would me." 

Hands clasped to their shoulders, Alexander leaned in. "My men are preparing a tent for you, close to mine. Rest yourselves for the night. Tomorrow, we will plan." He turned away, and it took everything Waver had not to follow.

Instead, he looked back to the curious crowd—more faces than he could ever remember from the Hetairoi. Before they could move, a woman in dusty armor, long teal braid draped over her shoulder, strode towards them. He'd noticed her in the crowd, and thought she'd looked familiar. Finally, he realized why. "Is that—Cleopatra?" Waver whispered to Alex, brow furrowed.

" _Ptolemy!_ " he cried. "Professor, come meet Ptolemy!" He dragged Waver by the arm, nearly tripping on his way. Of course. He should be used to this by now. Well, at least some people took after a different monarch.

"Alexander!" she whooped, opening her arms in time for the flying hug. "Were you really that small?"

"Oh, don't be jealous I grow up taller," he said with a laugh. Disentangling himself, he drew her and Waver's hands together. "Ptolemy, this is my friend and teacher. And strategist! Professor, this is my old friend."

"I don't envy you," she said to Waver, batting away Alex's offended shove. "Does he still prolong every lecture with incessant questioning?"

"All the time. You should see him when he gets his hands on a glo— a map." 

"At least you don't have to learn with him." She snapped her fingers. "Antipater must see you! He's off scouting, but he's expected back within the week. The day's duties are done, come have a drink with me. You've tasted wine by now, right?"

He folded his arms, a gleam of competition in his eye. "Certainly more than you."

"Alex," Waver interrupted, "As your strategist, I suggest we _come up with_ a strategy before you start celebrating." 

"Ah, all right," said Alex regretfully. "Have the wine ready for tomorrow, Ptolemy?" 

"If I don't drink it all tonight!" To Waver, she said, "Try to keep him out of trouble."

Alex grinned at her and took Waver's arm. "He won't." Walking back towards the king's tent, Alex regaled him with stories about Ptolemy and Antipater and all the friends he might see again.

Their tent was impressive—not as opulent as Alexander's, of course, but far nicer than the hostels and campsites Waver had stayed in back when he had followed Iskandar's steps after the war. Two beds, Waver's presumably being the one with a proper Greek chiton laid out on it. Well, that was what he got for forcing Iskandar to wear trousers in Fuyuki.

"So," said Alex, flopping on the bed, "what do you think of him?"

"He's…" Almost painful to be around, the way he looks and sounds and smells like Iskandar but doesn't know him, except seeing his smile again is more than he ever imagined and now there's a _chance_ — "Same old conquering idiot," he said with an offhanded shrug. Sitting down to take his shoes off, he asked, "Why didn't you tell him about the Grail? If he doesn't have it, he'll definitely help us find it."

"And give it to us without a fight?" 

"...no," he admitted. "Still—" 

"If it were anyone else, you'd be warning me to be cautious."

"And you'd be ignoring me."

"I follow your advice!"

Waver opened his mouth to disagree, but—hmm. He supposed he did, now. "Then I had better give good advice, hadn’t I? Very well, we'll wait to tell him of the Grail. We'll see signs of its existence soon enough if it's near. If it isn't, he can certainly help us find Ritsuka."

"Yes, I think that will be best." Waver looked over to see Alex staring at the ceiling of the tent, eyes unfocused. "Besides," he said, "I would like to spend some time here."

Waver looked towards the entrance, the tent flap hiding their view of the camp. The camp where Alex's friends laughed, where the Hetairoi he couldn't yet reach were alive and well. 

Where Alexander commanded in the prime of his life.

Unconsciously, Waver traced his fingers over the back of his right hand, over a scar that never existed. "It'd be a waste not to. Since we're here."

* * *

He woke up the next day to the sound of Alex deep in conversation. "You have family in Epirus? So do I— is Alexander I still king, now?" Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Waver pushed himself up. Alex sat on the edge of his bed, speaking to a man Waver didn't recognize. Looking over to him, Alex grinned. "Good morning! Alexander has invited us to lunch."

"Lunch?" Weren't soldiers supposed to be up at the crack of dawn?

"I tried to wake you for breakfast, but you kept hiding in your hair. You seemed like you needed the rest more." Hmph. Just because he hadn't walked for hours at a time since… ever… "Anyway," said Alex to the messenger, "we'll join him shortly. You and I can talk again later." With a bow, the man left.

Waver picked up the chiton, which looked a lot more like a shower curtain now that he was holding it. "Hmm." The hole was for the head, probably. That was a start.

Pulling the thing over his head, he heard what sounded an awful lot like a giggle. " _Now_ you're making fun of me."

"A bit. Hold still." A moment later, hands were tugging the fabric down, arranging it to drape properly. Alex picked up the belt and tied it around his waist. "There. It suits you, Professor."

"Can I wear pants under it?"

"No. Come on, let's go."

They walked to Alexander's tent, to find the table set and Alexander waiting for them. "Sit, sit. Your accommodations were to your liking?" Waver nodded, trying his best not to stare at the heavy braid slung over his shoulder, or that welcoming smile. 

Alex helped himself to some food before continuing their conversation. "You never tamed my horse as a boy. Tell me, do you lead the cavalry?"

"Certainly not," said Alexander with a chuckle. "I doubt I could stay on my horse during a battle! You do, I suppose? How strange, this world of yours."

"Then you're not a Rider. Your Servant class," Alex clarified. "Both I and my older self are Riders. How do you fight?"

"Magic, of course." Alexander looked between them. "Why such surprise? I saw you noticed my staff."

Waver managed to say, "A _Caster_? Then— why—"

"Why are you so _big_?"

Alexander threw back his head in laughter, loud and long. "You will claim Zeus' fire for yourself, eh, prince? Well, there is much to be said for appearances." He grinned, fiercely, and Waver certainly couldn't deny the effect. "You are not a user of magic, then?"

"No, I never had the skill. When did you start learning magic? Was it around age ten?"

After some consideration, Alexander nodded. "Yes, yes, that was it. I suppose that is when you found your horse?"

Alex nodded. "That's right. So something happened in this timeline to give you magic circuits, I think. I don't normally have them, right, Professor?"

" _Someone_ at Chaldea would have noticed. So no. But gaining magic circuits is not something that happens lightly, or without pain. Do you remember anything unusual happening around that time?"

"In the life of a prince? Oh, certainly! But nothing clearly related to my magic. And no sudden fevers or anything of the sort. My tutor was summoned to teach me magic, that was all." 

"Hmm." Alex drummed his fingers on the table. "My tutor came a few years later and only taught me words. You must have given some sign of your magic."

"None that I remember. I could not spark so much as a candle before his lessons." His fingers drummed in an echo of Alex's. "Is there no answer short of comparing our childhoods, day by day?"

"There's another problem that may be easier to solve," said Waver. "Our Master was separated from us when we Rayshifted. She most likely has a Servant with her. Have you heard any rumors of foreigners dressed like I was? Or of warriors who hit with the flat of their shi…who don't kill humans?" He sincerely hoped the other two hadn't landed in the right time instead.

"Warriors who do not kill? Not in the armies we've conquered. But I will order my scouts to search for them." 

Waver nodded. They did find him, after all—it was not so impossible they'd find Ritsuka even if she didn't draw attention to herself. And, frankly, she seemed incapable of not drawing attention to herself. The only question was how far away she was— ah, right. "Where are we, anyway? We meant to land in Pella."

Alexander grinned. "Why, in Alexandria, soon enough!" And then he winked— _winked_ —at Waver. "Until—" He stopped, abruptly, as Alex twisted to look behind him. Footsteps, running towards them. Could Ritsuka have found them, so quickly?

"King!" A soldier dashed into the tent, hastily bowing. "O king, raiders are approaching from the south. Fifty men strong, about half an hour's march away." Of course it wasn't their allies, nothing ever went that simply.

Alexander stood. "Ready the first _lochos_ , we won't need more than that. We'll meet them at the south edge of camp." 

"King." Waver stood up, knee knocking into the table in his haste. "We are capable warriors. Please, command us as you will."

"Huh?" Alexander blinked at him, eyebrows raised. "You're not meant for the front lines. You may wait here—this won't last long."

"I'm a mage, like you." And a far stronger one than he had been the last time he fought at Iskandar's side. "And you know how much Alex has trained. We've fought worse than humans."

Alexander clapped him on the arm, hand warm on his bare skin. "You've made your point, strategist! You should indeed witness this battle. Follow me, but stand back from the front—you will soon understand why." Grabbing his staff, he strode out into the sunlight.

"Only a _lochos_ for fifty enemies?" asked Alex. That meant sixteen men at most, far fewer than he should need.

"I suppose he has some impressive tactics to show us. Or maybe this Hetairoi is made up of mages."

"You're always saying mages are bastards who can't work together."

"Well. Yes. I'm _hoping_ he has better taste than that." But his Iskandar would take just about anyone into the Hetairoi, so who knew.

They only had to wait a short time for Alexander to come, leading his men. They didn't _look_ like mages to Waver, but then again, neither did Alexander. "Stand with the middle line of men," he said to them. "When we arrive at the battleground, follow their lead." 

It was exhilarating, marching with Alexander, so near to his command. Even if his legs still felt like jelly. At least he wasn't expected to steer a horse. Next to him, Alex looked thoughtful. It must have felt strange to him, Waver realized, to follow. Even at his age, he had led an army; yet in Chaldea, he answered to a Master and sometimes a retainer. There was so much to learn that he already knew, so much to see with his own eyes and not through the haze of a future memory.

"Professor." Oh, of course Alex caught him staring. Waver cleared his throat, ignoring the heat on his ears. "You haven't complained this whole time. I'll make a soldier out of you yet."

"...I'm complaining now." He deliberately didn't look to Alex's peal of laughter. 

A few minutes later, Alexander halted them with a raised hand. "There you are," he rumbled. Sure enough, their target was in sight. They were no army, to be sure, but they were clearly not strangers to battle. And underestimating your enemy was the quickest route to getting yourself killed.

"Hold back," said Alexander, before striding forward towards the bandits. No archers Waver could see, swords instead of throwing spears—he was in no danger, yet.

"Bandits!" he boomed. "Do you realize who you provoke?"

Either they hadn't, or they had second thoughts actually seeing him in the flesh. There was just a moment of hesitation before one man broke off and ran away. Like a bubble being popped, the bandits scattered in all directions.

With a wild grin, Alexander looked back to Alex. "Behold, prince, what you will grow to be." Hoisting his staff to the sky, he shouted, "Father! Your child of Greece calls for your aid. Channel your fire, from your son to the very ends of the earth!" 

And the sky itself answered. 

It was blue and cloudless, as dry as any summer day—and still, a bolt of lightning snapped down to the staff. And then another, and another, until it was covered in blazing light, just waiting for Alexander's command. Waver could feel the hair on his arms standing on end, brushing against Alex, and he looked to see the lighting reflected in Alex's wide eyes.

"Olympian _Omen!_ " called Alexander, and swung the staff down.

The lightning surged towards the raiders in a gleaming wave, felling them to a man. Waver swallowed, the taste of ozone heavy in his mouth. The battle—if he could even call it a battle—had been over before it even began. They were stirring, some of them, but none in any shape to launch a counterattack. Impressive tactics indeed.

Alexander calmly lowered his staff. "Come with more men, if you desire a proper fight," he called. With that, he turned away, not even bothering to watch his back. There was no need.

Finally, Alex whispered, "I can't do that, right?"

Waver shook his head. "...stick with riding."

"Now, you understand?" said Alexander, grinning as he returned to them. "I need no larger a front line. Come, let us celebrate!" On the way back, he walked at Waver and Alex's side, enthusiastically answering their questions. "About a hundred men, depending on how close they stand—ah, we have made good time. Clean yourself up and join me for a drink after dinner."

Alex hesitated. "Actually, I promised Ptolemy I'd drink with her tonight."

"Hmm?" Alexander's brow furrowed, then quickly cleared. "Ah, yes, of course. And you, tactician?"

Waver's eyes darted toward Alex. He'd dreamed of meeting the Hetairoi, of earning his place with Iskandar's dearest friends. And any other time, he would. But now, with Alexander and his smile waiting for his answer… "I'll join you, king."

Alex—well, Alex must have understood. Still, his quick smile almost looked strained. "I'll introduce you to everyone later, then. You should go ahead and clean up first." With a clasp of Waver's arm, he left them alone.

And Alexander's attention was wholly on Waver. "Then I shall see you tonight." He turned and went to his tent, Waver watching all the while.

* * *

After dinner (which Waver spent unsuccessfully trying not to think of what came after), he walked to Alexander's tent. "King," he said as he entered. 

"Ah, there you are." Alexander rolled up the map he was studying and pulled out a chair. "Come, sit." As Waver took a seat (he wouldn't make an idiot of himself this time, for once, really), Alexander set down two cups and some wine. "Ah, I nearly forgot! I believe this is yours." Turning back to his cabinet, he pulled out Zhuge Liang's fan. He pushed it across the table to Waver. "An unusual design. It belongs to your…passenger?"

"Yes. Zhuge Liang." Waver took the fan, pointlessly straightening its feathers to keep his eyes off Alexander's large fingers so close to his. "He's from China—Shu in your time—born a few centuries after you. Brilliant bastard."

Alexander hummed thoughtfully. "So his is the magic you borrow?"

"Sort of. Casters aren't necessarily mages in life; Zhuge Liang's tactics are translated into offensive magic. Which is helpful, because my own is crap. He gives tactical advice too, of course, but he's content to let me call the shots." 

"You fought at your Alexander's side as a mage without magic?"

Waver shrugged, feeling his face redden. "I didn't do much, certainly nothing he couldn't have figured out on his own. He just… took me with him. Mostly I cowered."

"I meant no insult, tactician. To battle in such a war with so few tools to call your own, it is… brave." 

Waver took a swig of his drink. A very hasty swig of his drink. Which he promptly choked on, because he would always make an idiot of himself. "Or foolish."

Taking a long sip, Alexander leaned forward on his elbows. "That difference lies only in whether one survives. So," he asked, rubbing a hand over his beard, "what does Liang have to say now?"

Waver felt a headache coming on. That, and some uncharitable feelings dancing around the edge of his consciousness. "Well. He has loyalties of his own."

"Ha! No matter, I have my share of enemies. I know you do not think the same."

And he was turning red again. "O-of course not. I told you that." At least he managed to bite his tongue before calling him an idiot.

"So you have," Alexander said with a grin. He drained his cup, setting it down with a thud. "Strategist." He looked at Waver, eyes half-lidded, and for one heartstopping moment Waver thought he would ask him to bed. "I have quite enjoyed our talk, but now I must plan. We shall speak again tomorrow."

"Yes," said Waver, swallowing down his disappointment. Tomorrow, when they might find Ritsuka, might not have a moment alone together again. But nothing on earth could change Iskandar's mind when he made a decision, particularly a man he barely knew. "Good night, king."

Alexander smiled at him, and he could almost forget they were not old friends. "Good night."

When he finally returned to his own tent, Waver was surprised to see Alex there. It was a familiar sight: he sat with legs crossed, reading the Iliad. "Alex. I thought you'd be out all night."

Alex looked up, flashing him a grin. "Ptolemy's running drills tomorrow. She said she'd execute anyone too hungover to fight, so she'd better stop before that included herself."

"Fair enough," said Waver. With all the stories Iskandar had told, it was hard to remember the Hetairoi had fought in between their celebrations. Which reminded him— "How different is his Hetairoi from yours?"

"I—" Springing from his bed, Alex began to pace in frustration. "I can't _remember_. Some of them, I know their faces. I know they must have fought by my side. But I don't know their names until they tell me. I can't remember how they fight, or how they take their drink. There's Ptolemy and Antipater and Seluceus, I remember them from this form. But Hephaestion—" Alex wrapped his arms around himself, looking down at the ground. "I have missed him again."

Hephaestion. Iskandar's second in command, his lover, the other half of his soul. Iskandar had told him of coming too late to his deathbed; then, laying in Iskandar's arms, he had been stupidly, childishly jealous. And a few days later, he had watched Iskandar die and understood.

Alex, though—Alex would never forget the death of his lover, even when so much of the time he had, would have, with him grew faint.

"I'm sorry," he said, because he couldn't think of anything that could actually ease his pain.

With a small smile, Alex wiped the tears from his eyes. "I will see him again someday. That is more than most get. So!" He sat back down on the bed with a theatrical flop. "Why am I a _Caster_? I would have guessed a Lancer, at least."

Waver paused in the middle of taking off his shoes. "Hey—what's wrong with being a Caster?"

"Well, you can't walk a few miles without nearly collapsing." He laughed at Waver's roll of his eyes. "I think this me can, though."

"I still don't know what the difference is, in this timeline. He isn't a Rider because he never tamed your horse, but why not a Lancer?"

"It could be Aristotle. If he came to train me before I learned combat...but I still needed the aptitude for magic in the first place! Well, keep talking to him. See if you can find out what happened."

"And not you? I thought you'd be eager to ask him about everything." Waver would understand if it was him, not wanting to spend time with himself, but this was _Alexander_.

"No," said Alex, face pensive. "It's like…a walkthrough. The longer I speak with him, the better I know how I'll one day respond." He toyed with the end of his braid. "I already know too much."

"Your life is different, Alex." Waver shook his head. "It's not like you came to Chaldea your first time around. You…" He swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. "You're a different man."

"True, I am." He was still watching Waver, intently enough that he could feel an embarrassing heat on the tips of his ears. "Even if my history is preordained...I want it to be my own."

* * *

He woke up, suddenly, to nothing but the dark of the night and Alex's quiet snoring. It was late enough that there was almost no sound from the army outside, nothing but scattered footsteps of patrols and the quiet buzz of nature. He'd camped before, struggling to sleep the night before battle in a Singularity, but this was different. This was the camp he'd read about so many times, the camp where Alexander the Great breathed the same air as he did.

Is this what it would be like, if he made it into Iskandar's Hetairoi? Would he disappear until his king called on him, or would he live as one of his men? Would he… 

Waver sat up, combing fingers through his hair until it felt sufficiently tamed. Carefully creeping past Alex, he stepped onto the cool ground. The camp was dark and empty, most of it—except for Alexander's tent, still aglow with light. Before he could hesitate, before he could stop himself, he entered his tent.

There sat Alexander, armor off, intently studying scattered papers. It reminded him of late nights, of waking to see Iskander reading by candlelight, of knowing he was strategizing while he slept. "My king," he said, hesitant to break the odd peace of the scene. 

Alexander glanced up, smile soft in the flickering light. "Hello again, strategist." Rolling up the map, he nodded to a slender youth he hadn't even noticed, who pulled out a seat for Waver. "That'll be enough for tonight, boy." With a bow, the servant left them alone. "Trouble sleeping?" asked Alexander.

"Mmm. I'm used to different weather." He wasn't lying—even when he'd grown to appreciate travel, he never felt quite right outside of his native climate. But more than that, he'd never slept as well as he had with Iskandar snoring next to him.

Alexander grinned at him. "Can't all be Macedonia, can they? This, though—" he pulled out a more decorated urn, with a sweeter smell—"will ease your mind." His good wine, he realized, the flutter in his stomach intensifying.

There were no servants there, no one awake nearby. For the first time in years, it was simply him and his king. Waver sipped at the wine—and then, looking at Alexander, threw it back.

"So you _can_ hold your drink!" He reached over to pour more into Waver's cup. "Did I teach you that, too?"

"God no," he snorted. "I would have choked on it back then. Besides, you were too busy sharing your drink with kings."

"Oh, yes, the...Servants." The word sat uneasy in his mouth—well, yes, Iskandar must have balked when he first heard it, too. "And who is it I feasted with?"

"Artoria—you wouldn't know her yet, but she was king of Britain. And—" the name still soured in his throat— "Gilgamesh."

"Gilgamesh? Of Uruk?" He let out a laugh into his wine. "What unusual times, that I would share a drink with him!"

Waver looked into his cup, into the wine that surely paled next to what they had drank at that banquet. "You've had better dinner guests."

"Such as my present company?"

Waver unsuccessfully fought the blush creeping over his face. "Well, um, I—" He couldn't even say he never killed him. Anyway, that idiot wouldn't count that as a negative. "Yes?" Well done. Smooth. He'd win him over him in no time.

With a chuckle, Alexander clinked his cup against his. "You seem clever enough. I'll trust your counsel." His fingers brushed Waver's as he returned the cup to his mouth, wine staining his lips. Then, setting it down, his voice grew even softer. "So, the boy is your _eromenos?_ "

"I—" He swallowed. "No. ...no."

Alexander was watching him, eyes piercing as they had been the first time he— "Then you were mine."

Waver's eyes squeezed shut, over the stupid, _stupid_ tears threatening to fall, he'd been _over_ this, for years and years—

Alexander's hand touched his, and his breath released in a noisy sob. "Yes."

"Ha! I thought so." Fingers lacing with Waver's, he squeezed his hand. "I can see why you caught the eye of a king." He grinned, wide and easy, and Waver's heart was in his throat. "Well, Waver? Would you share my bed once more?"

" _Yes,_ " he said, almost before Alexander finished the question, because he still hadn't an iota of self-control where his king was concerned. 

Alexander's laugh reverberated through him, and Waver could just tell there was a stupid grin on his face. "Then come, strategist." He stood up as Waver did, and pulled him close to the hard, hot planes of his body.

* * *

He thought he'd be done sneaking back to bed once he wasn't a teenager anymore. (Not that sneaking had meant much when the Mackenzies could surely hear everything, but he tried not to think about that.) But he really didn't want to make excuses to Alex, who would know exactly where he'd been. Stepping quietly past Alex's bed, he glanced down at him. Alex lay sprawled out, somehow taking up nearly as much space as Iskandar had. Waver still didn't know how he'd fit. 

("I never liked sleeping alone," Iskandar had said, once, and he might have been surprised at the confession had he not sounded as matter-of-fact as he always did.)

Waver's coat was folded on a chair in the corner. It was chilly tonight, he thought as he carried it over, tucked it around Alex's shoulders. Had Waver looked so small, back then?

Alex mumbled something in his sleep, and Waver shook his head to clear it. He'd been staring. He should get some sleep tonight, if he wanted to be any use tomorrow. He went back to his bed, then, and dreamed of his king.

Waver couldn't figure out why he felt so… _happy_ , when he woke up. Until he realized his heart was racing with anticipation and he remembered. Not the old memories, those he'd replayed over and over so that he could never forget a moment—no, the thoughts of _last night_. Last night! And he was pretty sure Alexander wouldn't kick him out if he went tonight, or the next night, and it took everything he had not to giggle like a schoolboy.

"Morning, Professor," said a sleepy voice from across the room. Alex stretched and let out a sound of surprise. "Oh! Was it cold last night? Thank you." He came over to hand it to Waver. 

"Morning," Waver said, reaching for his coat. He let out an involuntary noise at the pain in his—well, it'd been a long time.

Hopefully Alex didn't notice.

He shot a sidelong glance at Alex—Alex, who very quickly looked away, face bright red.

Well. It's not like he didn't know that they...how he…

Waver cleared his throat, looking towards the entrance that just happened to be in the opposite direction to Alex. "Let's, ah, get breakfast."

Within a few days, they'd fallen into a routine—Alex spending his days with the army, and Waver spending them with Alexander whenever he could. Not to mention his nights.

"You've fought worse than men, have you?" Alexander said, one lazy afternoon. "The patrols have been terrorized by beasts. Come, hunt with me."

"What kind of beasts?" asked Waver. If they were corrupted by the Grail—he'd barely even thought of the Grail recently, come to think of it—they'd have to step up their search, maybe split up to find Ritsuka or—

Alexander shrugged. "Packs of some sort. Nothing that will pose a challenge to two mages. " Waver breathed a guilty sigh of relief. 

"What is it you did before Chaldea?" he asked as they fought. "You're a good combatant, for one born with little magic."

"That's all Zhuge Liang," said Waver, swishing his fan with an extra flourish. "I was a teacher—I suppose I still am. Teaching magic to those with more talent than me and more morals than the rest of them. And destroying Grails."

"Destroying _Grails?_ " asked Alexander, turning to look at him. "Whatever for?"

"They're broken. Corrupted. No matter how good your intentions are, they'll twist your wish into something warped, to serve their own ends." He gave Alexander a wan smile. "Not that most mages have good intentions."

"And what did you wish for, in your war?"

"Something foolish." He deliberately did not look over at Alexander's inquisitive noise. "It doesn't matter. I lost."

"Your Alexander, then. What was his wish?"

"Iskandar—my Alexander—wanted to come back to life. Keep conquering the modern world, I guess."

"Hah!" Alexander swung his staff with an extra flourish. "Perhaps we are not so different."

"You don't seem so different to me."

"True, you would know most intimately."

Despite his best efforts, Waver could feel his face going bright red. "Oh, shut up."

With a booming laugh, Alexander clapped him on the shoulder. "Let us return, and make more comparisons."

They were heading to dinner, later that day, when Alex fell into step next to them. "May I join you?" Waver looked at him in surprise—he sounded...subdued. Something clearly weighed heavily on his mind.

"Of course!" Alexander said, after a moment. "I'll have my servant set another place," he said, going on ahead.

"Alex?" Waver asked.

Alex glanced at him for only a second, eyes returning to Alexander's back. "It's...nothing. There's just something I need to ask."

"What?"

"Nothing about the Singularity." He flashed a quick smile at Waver. "Don't worry about it, Professor." His pace picked up, and Waver followed. This wasn't like him. Well, he'd find out soon enough.

Dinner went better than he'd honestly expected—Alexander quoted a line from Homer, Alex mentioned he'd met Achilles, and then their excitement was enough to overcome any awkwardness. At length. 

But then Alex mentioned Patroclus, and his voice faltered.

"Alexander," he said, suddenly, "How did Hephaestion die?" Waver swallowed, hard. Of course he needed to know. That doesn't mean Waver wanted him to go through it again, to hear what he'd already known confirmed once more—

"Hephaestion?" Alexander asked.

"He—he died before me, in my timeline." He could see Alex fighting the hope down, his voice almost shaking. "Is he—did he—" 

"Hephaestion...ah, yes! My double's brother. Huh, I wonder what he's up to—I could check the latest report from Pella for his name."

Alex simply stared at him, for a long moment. "No," he said, quietly. 

He did not speak for the rest of the meal.

When they returned to their tent, Waver touched his arm. "Alex—

"Something's _wrong_." Alex wrenched away from his touch and sat heavily on the bed. "Not just with history. With _him_."

"Whatever made you forget your horse probably made him forget Hephaestion. When we find the Grail—"

"We're not _finding_ the Grail, Waver! We're vacationing!" Waver nearly stepped back from the anger like he'd never seen from Alex. "And there is _nothing_ that could make me forget Hephaestion. Not like that. No more than you could forget—" Alex stopped, suddenly, and all Waver could see in his eyes was the jealousy he'd felt over Hephaestion reflected back at him.

He—it wasn't like he needed mana from him anymore. Even if Alex remembered Iskandar's feelings, he'd known full well Iskandar would never return the devotion Waver felt for him, not for anyone but Hephaestion, not for a cowardly failure of a mage who never even—

Alex continued, voice steadier, pulling Waver out of his thoughts. "They're afraid of me, the Persian men. I think they're conscripts, and they shouldn't be. They should be as important to him as anyone from Macedonia."

"He's a different man. That doesn't mean—"

"It means he's not Iskandar," Alex said, meeting his eyes. "Don't forget that."

Waver swallowed, hard, and buried the thoughts swarming in his mind. "I—I know. I'll see if I can find out anything else."

* * *

It was the next day when everything went to hell.

They were eating lunch, talking to a group of men neither Alex nor Waver remembered, when Alexander returned to camp. He seemed in high spirits, with neither him nor his men showing a scratch. The crowd of people that came with him, though—they looked worse for the wear. There were soldiers, armor seared with fractals of lightning, and what looked like civilians as well. Why would he bring them all here?

"Here," said Alexander, gesturing towards a clear area. "I shall inspect them."

"Wait!" One of the crowd—the prisoners—staggered to his feet, steadying himself with a hand on another's shoulder. The enemy commander, probably. "We surrender, King Alexander. Take our lands. We cannot win." He was speaking halting Macedonian, Waver realized. Why, this far East?

"Quiet!" barked Alexander's general as the king came closer.

He circled around the crowd, pointing to some of the less ragged-looking people, soldiers and civilians alike. "Yes, this one...ah, good, and this one as well." As he did, his men pulled them out of the crowd, over by the center of the camp. Finally, after choosing a dozen or so, Alexander looked at his selection and nodded. "These, we'll send to Sidon. Our people will appreciate them."

"Please," the commander begged, voice rising. "You have won. We will serve you."

Alexander's general continued as if he didn't even hear him. "And the rest?" 

"Execute them."

Waver's blood ran cold. This—this wasn't how—

" _Stop!_ " shouted Alex, shaking Waver out of his stupor. He sprang up, racing towards them, and Waver followed.

Alexander looked at him, genially raising his eyebrows. "Oh? Do you wish for one for yourself? I would not call them fit for a prince, but if you so desire—"

"No! They've surrendered! Why would you execute them?"

"To remind the conscripts what awaits them if they desert, of course." The worst part was, Alexander wasn't angry at the interruption. He was simply puzzled. "This is war, prince. I know you've seen it."

"I have! I _remember_ it! This is not how I conduct war!"

"You win, but never destroy," said Waver, as Alexander's eyes fell to him. "You subjugate, but never humiliate. That is what makes an honorable conquest."

"Hmm? Did I tell you that, in your future?' Alexander shrugged, looking thoughtful. "There is honor in conquest, yes. Honor for your country, for your family, for you yourself. But honor can never again bless the conquered. They are trials to test your strength. Why spare pity for the thorn in your foot?"

"Why did you choose this life?" asked Alex, voice nearly breaking with anger. "Why are you here? What is your dream?"

"To conquer, prince. After Persia, India. After India, Okeanos. After Okeanos, Pyu. And on as I always have."

"After—after _what?_ " Alex's voice sounded small, and so very young.

"Okeanos? What of it?"

Alex's voice failed him, just for a moment, and Waver stepped closer to put a hand on his shoulder. "You made it to the ocean? Then what—why are you—"

Alexander looked at him in confusion. "Shouldn't you know, there in the future? It was not the ends of the earth. It was only water."

If—if Iskandar had reached his dream in life, found out all that drove him was the beating of his heart, would he have ended up like this?

What would he have wished for, with the Grail?

Waver looked at the prisoners, cowering, fearing for their lives—those that Iskandar would have accepted into his army, as his people. Those that would have stayed at his side long after death. 

He would not have wished for _this_.

"You are not the king I serve," said Waver, holding Alexander's eyes. "You do not deserve my loyalty."

"You are not _me_ ," said Alex. "And in the name of Iskandar, I will not let you do this!"

"Ah. Well, that is a pity." With a heavy sigh, Alexander stepped towards them. "I rather like you, strategist. Stand down now, or die with them." Alex moved to pull out his sword, but Waver stayed his hand as Alexander moved still closer. "I've met Servants before. Defeated them." With a shock of guilt, Waver remembered. _Servants_. As soon as he'd found Alexander, he'd forgotten the possibility of other Servants. "Heracles—ah, what a swordsman my brother was! Some Persian, Stella, was it? Point is, you two can't hope to overwhelm me. Certainly not without your Noble Phantasm."

Waver could feel Alex tensing under his hand as Alexander came to a stop, directly in front of him. And all Waver noticed was the heat radiating from Alexander's body, the sweat trickling down Alex's arm, the look on Alexander's face that almost, impossibly, seemed kind.

"We will stand down," he said, low and rough.

Alex started. "Professor—"

Waver met his eyes, and wished he could still call to his mind as a Master. "We will stand down." And Alex—Alex trusted him, even as he sank in defeat under his hand.

Alexander clasped Waver's shoulder, hard enough to stagger him. "Excellent! I'd rather not confront the paradox of slaying my younger self, anyway. Now, off to your quarters." He turned back to his men, raising his staff aloft.

Alex looked like he hadn't blinked at all, his eyes flicking between Alexander and the doomed prisoners.

"Alex." He squeezed Alex's arm. "We need to go."

Alex shook his head, violently, not looking away. "I have to. I have to see—"

"No," Waver said, gently. "Not yet." Sliding his hand down, he twined his fingers between Alex's. "He isn't you."

Alex finally looked towards him, angry and lost, and Waver squeezed his hand more tightly than he intended. Alex might have been weeping—he couldn't quite tell though his blurred vision.

Hand in hand, they walked to their tent, and did not turn back.

* * *

The noise continued for some time—celebration, after a short while. They must have prepared for bed, decided tactics could wait til morning, but Waver didn't remember it. Only Alex climbing into bed next to him, head fitting perfectly under his chin, and falling into sleep while listening to his uneven breathing.

"Professor." Waver startled awake, opening his eyes to see only darkness. Alex was crouched next to his bed, whisper warm against his face. "There's a guard outside. Alexander means to keep us prisoner. Can you fight him?"

"Yes." He'd already seen Iskandar— _his_ Iskandar—fall by his hand. "And I can win."

"Good. I wouldn't want to lose my reputation before I even started." Alex's smile was subdued, but the sight of it had never been more welcome.

"Maybe. Can you listen to your tactician and wait a few minutes before you pick a fight?"

Alex's half-smile, his eyes, were very close to Waver's face. "That depends on his advice."

"The prisoners Alexander took weren't their full force." Alex's face faltered, but Waver kept hold of his gaze. And, deep in his mind, a whisper added to his plan. "The commander was too green; he wasn't offering formal terms of surrender, but begging for his life. The others did not know to look to him, either. Knowing Alexander's tactics—word of his magic must have spread—the best chance of beating him would be to split your forces. Alexander knows that, and he will seek them out. Not with his entire army, but enough to clear out a good portion of the camp. It's our best chance to look for the Grail—he wouldn't keep it anywhere but in his tent or on him. If it's not in his tent, we'll follow them. A tired, smaller force will be easier to deal with, even without your Noble Phantasm." 

Blinking, Waver wrenched his focus back to Alex's eyes—only to see the _pride_ in them, so familiar he had to look away. It wasn't his expertise, it was Zhuge Liang's...except he knew what Alex and Iskandar, whose strength lay in others, would say to that.

"Good. Good." said Alex. "I can handle the guards, the ones who aren't sleeping off their wine. We'll be stealthy. Maybe I'll be an assassin next." 

"We're ready, then?" asked Waver.

"Ready," said Alex. "...after we get dressed."

Waver suddenly dearly missed his pajamas. "R-right." When Alex turned away, he grabbed—his own clothes. In the colors of Alex, the colors of his king.

"I still can't figure out what his wish was," said Alex. "I never needed the Grail to win. I...don't think he'd want it for that. Even like this."

"Maybe to save his life when he was about to die? He's gone farther than you did. Or he could have wished for magic when he was young."

Alex shook his head. "But why magic? I was already training in combat, then. I didn't want to cheat to get stronger." 

He couldn't help a pointed look at Alex, with his still-slender build. "So you grew that much naturally?"

Alex frowned. "That doesn't count! Besides, I trained for that too." With a sigh, he began to braid his hair. "It just...doesn't feel right. We're missing something." Holding the end of the braid in place, he looked around.

"I know," he admitted. "But we can figure that out once we find the Grail." Stepping over to Alex, he picked up his hair tie. "Here." Holding Alex's braid, he carefully tied it. And Alex—Alex was blushing, fiercely, and Waver suddenly realized he had never been so intimate with Alex in this lifetime. No matter how natural it felt.

Waver cleared his throat. "So. The guard."

Alex nodded, his flush fading. "Let's go." Stepping away from Waver, he turned to the entrance of their tent. "Guard," Alex said, with the voice of a prince used to being obeyed. "I wish to speak to you."

The guard stepped into their tent, light in hand—oh thank god. "Ptolemy," said Alex. "My friend. I need your service."

Ptolemy's weapon was at the ready, but her eyes were soft. "Are you asking me to betray my king?"

"No, Ptolemy. I'm asking you to save your friend." Alex walked to her, carefully, and placed a hand on her sword arm. "Does he mean to execute us?"

Ptolemy shook her head. "I doubt it. Slaying your younger self can't be a good omen. And you," she nodded at Waver, "he's taken a shine to." Her voice was oddly bitter, for some reason—it would hardly be unusual for Iskandar to take a lover, but—

But the king he knew had not left his friends behind.

"You remember how he used to be, don't you?" Alex said. "Before he stopped trusting you, or anyone?"

"Yes," she said, her sword arm finally dropping beneath Alex's touch. "Like you."

"My men are my greatest treasure," Alex said, the echoes of a deeper voice ringing in Waver's memory. "And most of all, my friends. Those who have stood by my side, always. Those who I love. That is who I should be."

Ptolemy sucked in a breath. "That may be so. But I cannot help you kill him."

"We only want the Grail," said Waver. "The Grail changed him. Once it's gone, he—" will disappear, just like you, just like every old friend Alex has talked with long into the night— "All will be as it should."

Ptolemy met Waver's eyes, gaze serious, and then Alex's. Finally, she jerked a nod. "Gods help me. I will do this for you, Alexander."

He grasped her shoulder, smile as broad as the horizon. "Thank you, Ptolemy. We need to search his tent for the Grail as soon as he leaves."

"He's already gone. Come with me. And stop smiling, you're meant to be a prisoner." Even so, her lips quirked upward at him. She marched them over to Alexander's tent, the few people awake paying them no mind.

Alexander was not there—but someone was. Sitting by his bed, standing up hurriedly as soon as they entered, was the boy Waver had seen the first night he went to Alexander's quarters. Ptolemy gestured toward the entrance with her chin. "You're not needed now, boy—"

"Bagoas." Alex was looking at him with a sort of wonder. "His name is Bagoas."

The servant—Bagoas—stared back at him, a barely visible flush rising on his cheeks. "My lord?"

Alex gave him an encouraging smile."We need to stop him. Will you help us?"

Bagoas nodded after only a moment's hesitation. "What do you need?" 

"We're looking for a golden chalice, about this tall. Have you seen him hide one?"

"No. But he does not much trust me—he tends to his things himself. He alone handles his wines, as well." 

"All right. Bagoas, you and Ptolemy search the dining area. We'll look through his quarters." The two of them left, leaving Waver to step to Alexander's bed once more. 

It looked just as it had last night, when Alexander had pulled him into it, had kissed him and stroked his hair—

"Right," Waver said, briskly. The tent was probably more familiar to him than to Alex, right now. "Take the right half, and I'll take the left." By his bed.

"Professor?" Alex asked, and he sounded hesitant enough that Waver looked at him in surprise. "You didn't notice it, when you—" 

"I would have mentioned it!" he snapped.

He would have, right?

...ha. For all that Iskandar had helped him, he'd given him one hell of a blind spot. But before he could even speak, Alex laughed, bright and false. "Come on, there's no time for that. Let's get started." 

There was nothing to do but begin his search. He'd felt the press of a book under his pillow, and he was sure of the dagger under that; even he couldn't have missed a Grail there. Next, his clothes: entirely proper, entirely Greek. He could kick himself. Every biography he'd read covered his Persian influences in his manner, his clothing—everything had been wrong from the beginning. 

And, under the clothes—Waver froze. It wasn't part of Achilles' armor, so Alexander hadn't worn his cloak. The cloak that would disintegrate until it was only a scrap of torn fabric, kept safe and protected until it could be returned to its rightful owner. The cloak that still felt warm and heavy under Waver's fingers, that still smelled of him.

But this cloak didn't belong to Iskandar. Or any Alexander that would one day bear that name.

"I should have known," he said, softly, fingertips resting on the fur of his cloak. "Some tactician I am."

"Don't be a fool, Professor." He looked over to see Alex watching him, a wry half-smile on his face. "Shouldn't I have known, too?" He hesitated, then continued. "Besides, it's not so shameful to lower your guard out of love." 

There was something in his voice, then, that made Waver's heart clench. "Alex—"

But Alex was shuffling through the papers on Alexander's desk, under the map he had never quite let him see. Right. They had more pressing concerns.

Waver was having no more luck searching through Alexander's clothes when he heard Alex's taut voice. "Professor?" He was staring at a parchment, face drawn. 

Waver hurried over to Alex's shoulder, looking at what seemed to be a letter addressed to Alexander. He skimmed the text—he was sure there were plenty of inconsistencies, but something had made Alex go white—

_I miss you, my Alexander. Had I only wished for you to visit more often!_

_Yours,_

_Olympias_

Waver swallowed. "Your mother."

Alex met his eyes, mouth in a worried line. "Alexander doesn't have the Grail. She does."

And then a voice shouted, " _Professor!_ " 

Waver jumped, heart racing. "Shh—!" But Alex was looking at him oddly, meaning either he'd imagined it or the voice was inside his head— "Master?"

"Alex! Professor! You can both hear me, right?" 

"Yes," he said, out loud for Alex's benefit. "Where _are_ you?"

"Catching up to Alexander the Great—Dr. Roman told us you were with him when we landed in Pella. Queen Olympias rode ahead, though, so she'll probably get there first."

" _Olympias_ is with you?" asked Waver.

"How'd you get here so fast?" asked Alex.

Ritsuka laughed, sounding a little unhinged. "Don't—don't ask. Please. Anyway, Olympias has the Grail, so try to hold out until we get there. Or convince her to hand it over, I think Darius was getting somewhere." 

" _Darius?_ "

"Oh crap—uh, gotta go, yell if you need a command seal bye!"

Waver stared at Alex. " _Shit._ "

Ptolemy hurried into the tent, Bagoas right behind her. "I heard voices. Did you find it?"

"Olympias has it," said Waver.

"Oh." Ptolemy cursed.

"She's coming here."

Ptolemy cursed louder.

Before anyone could contribute anything more useful, someone burst into the tent. Waver yelped in surprise and Alex— "Hello, Mithrenes," said Alex.

Mithrenes stared at him. "Alex! What are you—" He shook his head. "There's no time. Ptolemy, I have a report. I—" He looked from Ptolemy to the prisoners, standing in the tent of the king, and back. And then he continued, as surely as if no one but his commander was there to see it. "Scouts are reporting Servants to the east of us, coming quickly. The King is breaking off to meet them. His orders are for another phalanx to ride towards them, now."

Ptolemy nodded, eyes on Mithrenes. "It will take some time to rouse the forces. But we will leave as soon as we are able."

Mithrenes' eyes darted to Waver and Alex and quickly back. "I will return with your report." With that, Mithrenes dashed out.

"We will make haste," said Ptolemy, looking at Alex and Waver. And then she turned, leaving them alone in the tent. 

"Do you know where the horses are kept?" asked Waver.

Alex scoffed. "Of course." Turning to Bagoas, he said, "Please, keep yourself safe. I cannot wait to meet you." And Bagoas returned Alex's smile, just as everyone favored by it could not help but do.

"Let's go," said Waver, nodding towards Alex. He hated to force him away, but he could already hear the sounds of Ptolemy raising the troops. With a last smile for Bagoas, Alex walked out into the dark. And just as always, Waver followed.

Alex led him through the camp, as quickly as if he'd lived there for months, until they came to the horses. Alex went straight to a speckled horse, petting its nose. "Come on." He jumped on, as easy as walking.

Waver looked at the horse—why do horses have to be so _tall_ , anyway—and once again regretted not letting Alex train him.

"Professor? Are you—oh." Alex slid off the horse, and he sank to one knee in front of Waver.

"What—" he sputtered, breath catching in—oh. He was holding his hands out to give Waver a step up. "Isn't there some rule against royalty kneeling?" he said, lamely.

"If there is, I'll change it." Alex smiled at him, fond and warm, and Waver hurriedly stepped up into his hands. Somehow, with a minimum of strained muscles, he boarded the horse. Alex hopped on in front of Waver, taking the reins. "Just hold on to me and squeeze your thighs to her. Leaina doesn't want you to fall off either—she's well-trained."

"You know the _horse_? Oh, of course you do." Waver wrapped his arms around Alex's waist, holding him tightly as Alex spurred her into a gallop.

* * *

Waver was still not entirely comfortable on a horse, especially one going that _fast_. But he couldn't blame Alex for it, not when in just a few minutes, they could hear the hoofbeats of another horse. Traveling fast, traveling alone. Going ahead. Alex rode towards them, fast as lightning, until they were close enough to see— 

A beautiful steed, richly decorated in feathers and jewels. And bearing upon its back a queen.

He could feel Alex's body tense beneath his arms. "Mother," he said, voice steady.

"Alexander," she whispered. "The girl spoke the truth—!" She dismounted her horse, as elegantly as Alex had mounted his, and strode towards them.

"The king is looking for the Servants with you," said Waver. "We must hurry to meet up with them first." Even now, he could hear horses, like distant thunder.

Olympias barely spared him a glance before reaching to take Alex's hand. "So you are no mage. What is it you did without my guidance?"

"Mother..." Alex reclaimed his hand in order to dismount. "How long have you had the Grail?"

Olympias sighed. "Oh, the Grail this, the Grail that! Let me see my boy." She fussed with his braid, tucking hairs into place. Waver took the opportunity to awkwardly slide off the horse without Alex watching the spectacle.

" _Mother_ ," Alex said, uncharacteristically petulant.

"Oh, very well. Since you were a child."

"You have to give it up," said Waver, meeting eyes that finally acknowledged him. "It's destroying this world. It's destroying Alexander."

Olympias stared, the full force of her displeasure focused on Waver. "And who are you, to speak so of a king?"

"He is my advisor," said Alex, stepping between them. "He is a dear friend. He is a man I trust with my life, and always will." With a annoyed sound, Alex started to pace. "And he is right. This is not who I am meant to be!" 

"You have conquered the world!" cried Olympias. "You have outdone Philip, you have achieved all you dreamed of—"

"At the cost of my _heart_! Why would you wish for my success? I didn't need your help—!"

"Then it is good that is not what I wished for!" she snapped.

Alex, breaths coming harsh, glanced at Waver—and swallowed, calming himself. "Then what?" he asked, softly.

The sound of hoofbeats had stopped, Waver finally realized. Which meant— Looking over Olympias and Alex's heads, he saw a line of troops. And in front of them, Alexander, silently watching. He looked haggard—all those nights of sleep lost to work and Waver, of course he did—and he carried no staff. His hands were empty, his expression conflicted. Their eyes met, and neither spoke.

Perhaps it was possible, even now, to settle this without a fight.

"I wished—" Olympias clasped her hands to her breast. "I wished for you to be remembered as the son of Olympias."

A mage, like Alexander the Great's mother. Son of Zeus, as his mother had always claimed. And as for Hephaestion, who by all accounts had never liked her—well, he simply wasn't a factor anymore.

She couldn't have known how far the Grail would go.

"I am my father's son," said Alex, his voice soft. "Even so—you are my mother, and I will never forget that. You are the one who lives to tell the world of your son."

Olympias' eyes widened before closing in pain. "Then that as well is true. You should have died already."

"Yes."

"And you _wish_ to?"

"I wish to live my life as I am, Mother!" His voice grew strident. "I am Alexander III, prince of Macedon. Son of Philip and son of Olympias. You influenced the man I will become, both of you. But my life belongs to me. My legacy belongs to me." His voice cracked, and he swallowed. "Please hear me, Mother," he said, and the emotions warring over his face finally settled into love. Waver heard Alex's breath hitch—and then Olympias was holding him, fiercely, her own sobs muffled by his hair.

"My sweet Alexander," she murmured. "My boy. I relinquish the Grail to you."

The only sounds, then, were their breathing, their quiet tears, the calming beat of Waver's heart— 

And the subtle scrape of a sword being drawn.

Alexander, his mouth set in a grim line, was preparing to swing at Alex's back—

The frantic shout tore from Waver's throat. " _Rider!_ "

Without hesitation, Alex threw himself and his mother to the ground. The sword swung high over them, Alexander grunting with the effort.

"Bring my staff! And _attack!_ " Alexander shouted. His men rode in—a small force, much smaller than usual, meant for a man who prefered to handle things alone. Still enough to overwhelm a Servant without his Noble Phantasm.

This time—Waver raised his fan—he could protect him.

"Stone Sentinel Maze!" he shouted, and the deep thrum of satisfaction at speaking Chinese after days of only Macedonian was not entirely Zhuge Liang's. Pillars appeared, suspended impossibly in the sky, before slamming down around the soldiers. Sealing away Alexander's backup, his staff. He could hear muffled shouting, lances striking the pillars, but they were no longer a factor in the battle. They would stay trapped, no beacon of light to follow to freedom.

" _Alexander!_ " shouted Olympias in a fury. "Stop this!"

Alexander snarled. "You side with a usurper, instead of your son? After insisting all you've done was for my benefit? Nothing has _changed!_ " He swung at Alex, the blow wild and quickly dodged.

"He is not taking your _place_ , you foolish child!"

"Oh?" Alexander's laugh was harsh. "You have not seen him seduce my army to his own side!'

"And what do you give to them?" Alex shouted. "Do you share their joys and sorrows? Or do you simply spend each night planning your next conquest, alone—"

"You have no _right_!" And—to Waver's confusion, he stepped back. Then raised his sword, pointing it towards Alex—

If Waver didn't need Zhuge Liang's fan, then Alexander didn't need—

Waver frantically cast, stumbling through the motions, protective mirrors circling Alex just as Alexander called out "Olympian Omen!"

Alex cried out in pain as the strike hit, the octagonal mirrors absorbing some of the blast but not enough. Shit, shit, _shit_ , Alex was down, he was out of defensive moves, all he could do was get Alexander's attention with a snap of the fingers and a blast to his face.

Alexander staggered, nearly falling to the ground—but he cast again, lightning homing to Alex. Not his full strength, but still too much for Alex to stand. He needed to go down now.

 _Master_ , he thought, focusing everything on calling to her. _Help Alex_. A command spell would keep him fighting, would give him enough mana to—

Use his Noble Phantasm.

_Master! He needs as much mana as you can give!_

Because if he couldn't use his own Noble Phantasm, maybe he could use someone else's. Here, alongside Alexander's army, alongside his friends and family and all those who would fight for him, maybe he could reach it, just this once.

"Alex!" he shouted, running to him. "Call upon your Hetairoi!"

And as he reached Alex's side and saw the pain leave his eyes, he knew Ritsuka's command had gone through. "We are here to serve you," he said, taking his hand. "Call upon us!"

Alex squeezed his hand, and closed his eyes. 

Waver felt the air change, first; the breeze no longer reeked of ozone. And then came the ground under Alex's feet, smooth whiteness covering the grassy soil. Waver looked up, and gasped.

Flickering over the open air was the sketch of marble walls, of a palace fit for a prince. And with it, the ghostly images of a group of children: those who had been with Alex the longest, those who would be the heart of his Hetairoi.

" _Hephaestion_!" Alex cried, joyously.

The tallest of them stepped forward, wordlessly mouthing something to Alex. From the way Alex smiled, he understood. And glancing at Waver, Hephaestion—was that a wink?

He couldn't remember him. Could he?

From the middle of the group, a girl who looked like Ptolemy handed some sort of bundle to Hephaestion, red and gold. He passed it to Alex, who unfurled the thick red fabric and ran his fingers over the gold trim.

"Thank you," he whispered, before beaming at Hephaestion, at all of them. "Thank you, my friends. I will see you again someday." He reached a hand out, brushing fingers over Hephaestion's cheek as the dream faded.

Alex looked to Waver, smiling so brightly it made Waver's chest ache, before turning back to face Alexander. "I will never lose those who are dearest to me. And that is why I will win. Come to me!" He threw the fabric in the air—and it seemed to hover for a moment, before the blanket fell down onto the back of a magnificent black horse. " _Bucephalus_!" With a shout of joy, he vaulted onto his horse, and they galloped forwards as if sharing one mind.

Alexander dodged as best he could—but in his exhaustion, facing the exaltation of Alex and Bucephalus, he had no chance. He staggered, finally, and Alex slashed him across the chest hard enough to send him to his knees. "Stand down!" he cried. 

Gasping in pain, Alexander pressed down on his wound and laboriously attempted to stand. "I will not surrender. I will not end my journey here."

Alex slowed Bucephalus to a stop next to Alexander. " _Why_?" Alex asked. "You share no dream. Why do you still fight?"

"I must." His breathing ragged, Alexander scrabbled for his sword. "What else can I do?"

" _Anything_ ," said Waver, and Alexander's eyes were wide on his. "Everything." Holding thumb against fingertips, ready to counter another attack, he continued. "There was so much he could have done, had he lived. He would have made it to the ocean. He would have discovered another dream." He looked over at Alex—Alex, the passion shining in his eyes, the support of his allies filling his heart. "And he would have shared it. He wouldn't have been alone."

Finally, finally, Alexander ducked his head. So low he could barely hear it, he rumbled, "I yield." 

"I accept," said Alex, voice clear.

"Strategist." Alexander looked up, and his eyes locked on his. "...Waver." He took a heavy breath. "I...regret it turned out this way."

Waver's breath hitched in his throat. He owed him no counsel. But he never thought he'd see loneliness in those eyes. "Goodbye, Alexander."

* * *

It wasn't long before they heard more hoofbeats, and with them a shout of "Queen Olympias!" Ritsuka and Mash hopped off their horse, and Alex ran over to them, and then everything erupted into chaos as it tended to do whenever Ritsuka was around. He could hear Olympias asking about "that nice boy Darius," and he'd...he'd ask what happened in Pella later. 

For now, he stood aside, just watching.

Alexander's soldiers, released from their prison, stood awkwardly by their horses. It was an unusual sort of loss, with no wounds to tend to or casualties to mourn. So they sat, or stretched, or watched the commotion of these strange foreigners. 

And apart from his army, there stood Alexander, looking to the horizon. A checkup from Nightingale had patched him up, and he'd quickly removed himself from the vicinity of Ritsuka after that. Maybe he could have discovered what he was looking for, one day, if the collapse of the Singularity wouldn't mean history was restored. Alexander the Great—Iskandar—would again be dead.

"Waver Velvet," said a voice next to him, and he jumped in an entirely undignified manner. How long Olympias had been there, watching Alexander just as he was, he didn't know.

"Will he be remembered as my son?" she asked, softly.

Waver looked at her. There was little of Iskandar in her—but in her hands, the way she held her shoulders, he saw Alex. "You will be remembered as the mother of Alexander the Great."

"Then I need not wish for more." She looked Waver up and down, and whatever she saw seemed to satisfy her. "Stand by his side."

"Tch." He looked away, the tension in his stomach easing. "You don't need to tell me that."

She sniffed, frowning, and walked back over to Ritsuka and Mash. ...right, it was expected not to be rude to royalty. Well, he knew exactly who to blame for that.

For just a little longer, Waver watched the army that was not a Hetairoi, the king who was not his.

"Professor?" Alex was walking towards him, Grail in his arms, and Waver finally turned away.

"Stop calling me that, already." He reached to hastily wipe his eyes—no. There was no shame in tears, especially not in front of him.

"All right, boy," he said with a grin. 

Waver flicked him lightly on the forehead, hiding his own smile. "I'm older than you were back then, brat."

"All right, then. Waver."

"Alexander." Alex smiled at him, the smile he'd seen hundreds of times before, and suddenly he couldn't wait one more second without telling him what he had been too scared to tell Iskandar. "My king." He dropped to his knees, right there on the dusty ground. "I pledge myself to you."

He could hear Alex swallow. "You already have," he said, voice soft.

"Every version of you," he continued. "If you are worthy, I will serve you." He looked up, then, meeting the red eyes he had longed for for so long. "And—I will always, always love you."

"Waver," he said, and in the tenderness of his gaze he could see Iskandar—Iskandar and Alex all at once. And at the press of lips to his forehead, he couldn't see anything at all through the tears. He could feel the fingertips gently stroking his cheek, though, and the hand tilting his chin upwards. And then Alex's lips were pressed to his own—soft and eager, no beard scratching his chin, and so, so familiar.

Finally, too quickly, Alex pulled away. "We'd better go back. Before Mother looks over, at least." Sliding his hand from Waver's cheek, he offered it to him.

He took the proffered hand, and Alex pulled him up instantly. Of _course_ he was almost as strong even at this size. He'd have no trouble at all pinning him down, would he?

"What are you thinking about, Waver?" Hmph. That smile was absolutely not as innocent as it looked.

"Ah—" He scowled at Alex as his smile turned into a laugh, bright and happy. "The Grail. What else."

"Hmm. So, what will you wish for, if we keep this Grail?" No need to wish for its destruction, not with these Grails. But there _was_ his real wish, kept secret in his heart for long years, since the last time Iskandar had smiled at him and rode off to die for him.

He looked to Alex, and his eyes shining with joy and anticipation and love.

"I can't think of anything."

"That's too bad," said Alex. "Neither can I."

"Hey lovebirds!" yelled Ritsuka. "Are you coming back or what?" Waver reluctantly looked over—of _course_ Olympias was watching him with eyes narrowed. Well, he'd be leaving here soon enough. Leaving the Singularity, leaving Macedonia, leaving the time of Alexander the Great.

"Coming!" called Alex. Looking to Waver, he squeezed his hand. "Ready?"

Waver found himself smiling helplessly, and he couldn't bring himself to care. "Ready." Hand in hand with his king, Waver Velvet walked towards home.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't start out intending to write Iskandar Alter, but here we are. I nattered about some of the historical references and other tidbits on my [DW](https://jaclynhyde.dreamwidth.org/3196.html). I hope you enjoyed this!


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